Simone is the first to walk into my studio on the day we’re recording the choir. “Hello jerk.”

“Jesus,” I grumble, shaking my head and narrowing a bored look at her. It’s been a week since I saw her last and she’s still not over it. I know she doesn’t give a fuck about me, so my patience is zilch. “Are you going to be like this the whole day?”

On a superior smile she says, “Yep!”

Sarah walks in lugging a cooler that’s too heavy for her, large enough to diminish her already short frame. I rush forward and take it. “Here.”

Surprised and blinking rapidly she looks at me. I feel a tug in my chest at the eye contact. It’s powerful seeing her for the first time since New Orleans — outside of that fucking hand-wave last week. So strong in fact that I hesitate before pulling the cooler from her. I have to turn away quickly so I can get ahold of myself.

Didn’t expect the reaction I just had, no matter how many times she’s snuck into my thoughts.

“These for the kids?”

“Of course they are,” Simone snaps. “Moron.”

Gritting my teeth I face the spoiled beauty. She steps closer to fight but Sarah jumps between us, her arms out. The scent of her sweet shampoo instantly drifts into my nostrils.

“Okay, guys. We have to get to work here.” Sarah’s determined eyes lock onto Simone. “This is your hit, remember?”

Glaring at me Simone growls, “Yeah.”

“And Jason, you’re a professional. Or at least you can pretend to be one.”

I stifle a smile and step back, nodding to Sarah. “Still sarcastic, I see.”

“Did you think I’d change?” she smiles, her almond-brown eyes sparkling with their usual challenge.

“Didn’t want you to,” I admit. Sarah’s smile falters. She didn’t expect that coming from me.

Simone rolls her eyes, props her hands on her hips and looks toward the studio. “So, how are we doing this?”

“I’ve put several mics in there for the boys. We’ll record you separately—”

“—No! I want to sing with them.”

“That might make it more takes.”

“You’re the one who makes me do too many takes! Why not just use one of the first awesome times I sing it!?”

To Sarah, because I want to see that twinkle again, I mutter, “And you call me cocky?”

Intent on making her friend happy, Sarah sighs with an impatient look. “Jason, is it possible for Simone to sing with the boys?”

This day is going to be very long. Walking to my soundboard and fiddling with something that doesn’t need it, I mutter, “It is. It’s just not ideal.”

“It’s not ideal for you, you mean,” Simone counters.

“Fine! Jesus, I liked it better when there was just one bitch riding my ass. I’ll set up another mic.”

Before the fight escalates, in runs a five-year-old, dark-skinned boy, his mother close behind. “Simone!” he shouts.

Her crappy attitude transforms instantly as she bends down to receive a hug, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, yay! I missed you, Lewis!”

She’s coached them all week on Just For Me, and the affection is real and mutual. Another two boys come in and Simone’s irritation with me disappears completely in her distraction.

Sarah greets the first boy, “Hi Lewis!” and bends to hug him.

He announces with pride, “Sarah, I ate a carrot!”

Her face is glowing as she squats in front of him to be his height. “You did? That’s amazing! And you didn’t cry?”

Squishing his face up he announces, “I never cry. I just hate them!”

“Because you never tried them,” she offers, smoothing down his shirt. Beaming at her he nods and she continues, “And now you have. What did you think? Did you like them?”

He shakes his head, blanching. “Uh uh. I still hate them!”

On a laugh, she glances up to me. Her smile falters as she realizes I’ve been staring at her. I can only imagine the look in my eyes, because seeing her with that boy flashed an image of her as a mother in my mind. And I liked what I saw.

Sarah holds my look a second and then stammers to Lewis, “Well…that’s perfectly fine. At least you gave it a shot.” Rising up, she glances to me once more as other parents and children file in, the studio growing louder by the second.

In a volume meant for only her I confess, “It’s good to see you.”

She frowns then mumbles back, “I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Jason!” Mr. De Silva interrupts, holding his hand out.

“Hi!” I shake it and greet the room. “Everyone! I’m going to set up an extra mic, move some things around in there, and then we’ll get started.” Lots of people nod and the greetings continue as I maneuver my way to the sound booth’s door and disappear inside to make this work.

It’s silent in here except for my footsteps on the thick carpet, and the swishing of cables I drag out from storage. It’s giving me a chance to think about these feelings I have for Sarah.

Glancing to the glass window while I carry a mic stand to the center of the others, I see Simone easily chatting with Mr. De Silva, her hand on Sarah’s shoulder. It’s understandable why I went after Simone, but I wish I could take it back.

I’m a dick for wanting to get between those two women. Selfish, you could call me. You’d be right.

But what am I supposed to do? I saw something in her I’ve never seen before in any woman. I saw her with that boy and imagined her talking to our son. I didn’t ask for that image to pop into my mind. It came from deeper and I can’t ignore it.

I know now that I can’t just walk away.

As I slide the microphone into its stand and check the chord to make sure the connection is secure, I glance over and meet Sarah’s eyes. We hold the look before her head dips, eyelashes fluttering to the ground in thought.

That wasn’t her checking to see if everything was ready. She’s torn, too. I saw it.

She cares about me.

A grin spreads on my face as I do one final test of my equipment. My chest is full, my lungs light and my body awake more than it has been since the depression set in right after New Orleans.

Strolling with a carefree air, I return to tell everyone, “Okay, let’s get you boys all set up.” Meeting Sarah’s eyes, I add, “We’re ready to go.”